


Hanging Off the Chandeliers

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Banter, Camboy Jaskier | Dandelion, Companionable Snark, Dildos, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Humour, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Sex Toys, Snark, Undressing, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: Biting his lip, he reaches underneath the pillow by his left knee for the bottle of lube he hid there earlier. He slowly pops the cap and carefully squeezes out a decent dollop of the stuff. Lube is your friend until your knee slips in it while you've got a teen-incher inside your bum, after which it's more of a health hazard. Not that Jaskier's ever, well. Never mind all that. Point is, he's much more fastidious when it comes to how much lube goes where these days.(Or, camboy Jaskier and the worst paying customer ever.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 47
Kudos: 370





	Hanging Off the Chandeliers

**Author's Note:**

> In these trying times my brain simply wants to... run away.
> 
> I hope this entertains at least some of you. Be well, my darlings.
> 
> Title from The Amazing Devil. Again. "Love Run" got me all... *incoherent noises*

The first sign that he may be out of his depth is when he almost knocks his laptop off his desk towelling himself dry after his second shower of the day.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's showered twice already, and it's only a little after one in the afternoon. Jaskier can't tell anymore what's normal and what isn't, or even where exactly on the spectrum of normality he resides at this stage. Once you've paid your rent with camboy money two months in a row is about the time when such notions stop making sense or having any actual value.

And there his brain goes, in directions which are not conducive to getting himself ready. Not that there's practically much to do after showering yet again, but, well. The thing is, it's one hundred percent different when it's just the one person in the room with him. Performing for fifty nameless, faceless punters is one thing; it's quite another to have one single, solitary person be alone with him, face to face as it were, presumably feeding him instructions. He's going to be able to see this Geralt person, which is fine, he signed up for this, but the nerves shouldn't come as a surprise if that's in fact the case.

It's a Monday. Who schedules a private video chat at two in the afternoon on a Monday? Well. The sort of person who can afford it, probably. Most likely some old bloke on his lunch break. Not that he'd be opposed to a silver fox, mind you, but it can't possibly be someone his age, not least of all because uni students don't have that sort of disposable income. Jaskier should know.

Before his brain has him backing out completely from an hour's easy work which will land him close to a hundred and fifty quid even with the website's commission, he surveys his set-up critically, partially as a distraction, but mostly to make sure he doesn't have to scramble at the last instant for the essentials.

The big screen he bought the month before just in order to have the chat box visible from where he'd be positioned on the bed. Wireless keyboard and mouse he's had for years, but which function well enough he hasn't had to replace them yet. Lube. More lube than he would realistically require, but better safe than sorry and all that rot.

Standing in the middle of the room in his stupidly tiny bedroom, he decides the flattering jeans his mum got him for his last birthday and the blue-grey dress shirt which brings out his eyes will do. He's worn neither on camera, not that it should matter, but if this works out it might turn into a steady revenue stream, therefore a good impression is essential from the get-go. Jaskier's been told he comes off a bit, eh. Well. Best to put his best foot forward.

Two o'clock draws near, and, in seemingly no time at all, it's _there_. He'd be lying if he said he weren't nervous.

The moment he logs onto the website he receives a private chat request through the link he e-mailed that morning. It buffers for only a couple of seconds before the pixels smooth over, Jaskier's laptop webcam showing a him in a tiny rectangle in the bottom-right corner of his screen.

The person he's assuming is Geralt comes into view with a plainly minimalist bedroom in the background, as opposed to Jaskier's plain bedroom due to a lack of funds. More so than the decor, what stands out is how far from domestic he appears. Jaskier takes steps to make himself seem approachable yet out of reach, but he would have assumed someone casually living their lives not even trying because there's no reason to try would by default come off a little more natural, but Geralt somehow doesn't. Or it might just be the fact that he's the most beautiful person Jaskier's seen in a long while.

Right. Yes. That is a very attractive man. The timer is ticking in the corner of his screen, so he's assuming this isn't a very complicated lark his mates have set up for a bit of a laugh at his expense.

"Hi?" he says. Or, rather, asks. He's glad he's not naked yet. That would have been all sorts of awkward, for reasons he can't quite name, though mostly to do with his willy out and about during the awkward greeting parts.

He gets a grunt, which is either rude, or the sign that his, uh, client may not be the most verbally communicative individual. Which Jaskier can work with just fine. Better than a rude arse by a mile.

"Geralt?" he asks then, just to be sure. It's a good idea to make sure the person paying you to undress and stick a rather large phallic implement up your bum on a live stream is actually the person paying you to undress and all the rest, etcetera. Not that Jaskier's saying no to the chiselled jaw and rugged cheeks and hot yet off-putting colouring.

He does receive an attractively dead-faced _yes_ as a reply, so no on the lack of speaking then.

"Great! Hate to have given out a link to, uh, never mind." Sounding disgustingly sprightly falls a little flat in the face of Geralt's non-reaction.

For an instant, he looks as if he might be regretting this entire thing, as in regretting all his choices which have led him to Jaskier cracking cringe. Before Jaskier can very charmingly rectify the situation, Geralt asks, "Are you wearing makeup?"

Stilling immediately, he says, "What? No? What?" Frowns. "Why? Is there something—"

"Your mouth, it's— Never mind." He looks vaguely constipated. On someone else, it would bring up the worst cliché of a deer in headlights, only Geralt looks as if he's never even met a deer, and, if he did, he'd be the headlights in that scenario. Bloke's built like a lorry from where Jaskier's sitting.

Self-consciously licking at the corner of his mouth, Jaskier thinks back to the last hour, but he's reasonably sure he's only had a measly glass of water since his shower, unless he blanked on chewing on an ice pop again, which he's been known to do.

"Is it—" he starts, but Geralt stiffly says, "Go on," which doesn't make a lot of sense, as Jaskier wasn't doing anything other than standing there, but he takes it as permission to start.

Exhaling, Jaskier relaxes his shoulders, allows as much of the tension which the shower wasn't able to take away to finally leave him, and reaches for the buttons on his shirt, begins on them top to bottom at a good rhythm in order to make the start of the hour pass at a brisk pace without letting it get too boring. Everyone more or less enjoys a good striptease, but there's only so much most people can take of watching a skinny bloke take off an Oxford shirt in the middle of his bedroom. All the while, though, Geralt is watching him like a hawk, which must be some sort of compliment in itself, surely. Does the man even blink?

Once done, he leaves the sides of the shirt hanging loosely to frame his chest. He's not exactly built, but he's always found it's a good visual, an easy trick to both tease at more and show off some skin for that instant gratification people generally go on the internet for. He catches a glimpse of himself tiny at the edge of his screen. From afar, it's a pleasing enough sight, the natural light in the room catching on his skin, mellowing out the edges. Plus, if his current audience of one didn't go for that sort of thing, he sincerely doubts they'd be there.

He's struggling with the tiny buttons at the cuffs, which, in hindsight, he must acknowledge he shouldn't have buttoned up to begin with, when Geralt comments, "Are you always this hairy?"

As Jaskier was very busy curving his spine to bring his chest forward during this entire thing, it definitely throws him off completely, knees almost buckling awkwardly but not enough for him not to snark back.

"Oh, that's nice," he says huffily. But Geralt blows out a breath, eyes softening, and adds, "It's not a criticism."

His head tilts just so, not examining him, simply looking, and that's—huh. Jaskier's gaze tracks wildly around the room, head buzzing, but he can only come up with, "Oh," as a reply, a little too breathy. Tries to compensate by adding some proper words next, like a normal human person. "Yes, that's. Uh. Me." He swallows around a mouthful of saliva, face flushing, the instant warmth of it probably beyond obvious.

"Go on," Geralt says again. Jaskier stares back, dropping his arms by his sides, and Geralt sighs when there's nothing further coming from him. "Your mouth is open and words are about to come out. It'd rather skip that part."

Mouth puckering, fingers antsy, Jaskier asks, "Don't enjoy the dirty talk?" Given the circumstances, his eyebrow cocks perhaps a little more confrontationally than it should.

"Why? Were you engaging in any?" Geralt smirks. "Go on?" he tries, eyes tilting up at the corners.

Yeah, warms the cockles of Jaskier's dead heart, that does. Uncharitable thoughts aside, he starts getting an inkling this Geralt person only has one speed, and it's not unbridled enthusiasm. Unless it's being a cocky arse. Most certainly _not_ attractive in any way whatsoever.

Rolling his eyes, he finishes with his cuffs, then allows his shirt to drop to the floor. What can he say? A part of him appreciates the drama of it.

Lightly, he touches at his trouser waistband with the pads of his fingers to start with. Doesn't bother trying for anything too complicated right after, simply going for the top button. With a few more even movements, he unzips and parts the sides, fingers deliberate as he sticks his hand inside. He's tenting his briefs where the tip's a little swollen already, but he's only half-hard at this point, which is a best case scenario anyway, a little tease which shows he's interested but not yet fully there. The snark hasn't had any undue effect; if anything, it got him going a little more than groping at himself in the shower did, which probably says something about him.

Voice intentionally lower for effect, he asks, "Should I?"

Utterly wasted, clearly. "Any reason why you wouldn't?" Vague amusement, obviously at Jaskier's expense, which is definitely not a seduction technique he's ever encountered. "Anything in there I shouldn't be seeing?"

"Well, I haven't got bread in my pants, that's for sure," he snaps, "so. No," he finishes lamely. He swears he had a point somewhere in there.

Geralt hasn't shut off the stream yet, so that's promising. He mutters an easy-going, "Hmm," which Jaskier takes it to mean he can go on.

Ignoring the way his blood is pumping his heart straight out of his chest, he exhales loudly before touching at the tip of his prick through the fabric, the distraction heartily welcomed. The wetness seeps through in a few short moments. Although he hadn't meant to make it messy from the get-go, here he is, and it's not like anyone's stopping him either, so he carelessly fingers his cockhead until it's nicely poking through the wetness and only lets himself go once he's all the way hard inside his underwear.

Shimmying out of his jeans isn't the most flattering way to pull his jeans off, but it's less awkward than doing it one leg at a time. Once he's got them mid-thigh he allows them to fall off him and steps back before kicking them off-screen.

Looking back at Geralt's considering face, he waits for a beat, but only gets another gruff _hmm_ for his troubles.

That's—a reaction. Rolling his eyes right now is probably not going to be doing him any favours. He palms the centre of his chest, and tries, "Good?" He's glad he turned the heat on high earlier so that he doesn't have to be careful to detour around his nipples. They always get weirdly sensitive whenever they pebble up.

Gaze raking down his body and back up again, Geralt gives him absolutely nothing to work with here, to the point where Jaskier wonders why he even bothered to pay the little extra for the two-way view rather than allowing Jaskier to deliver his usual to a chat box as his only feedback. It's not as if he has to compete with anyone else for Jaskier's attention or to have his requests fulfilled. Consequently, Jaskier's at a loss. Mostly, it's the seeming lack of interest, although he gets the feeling it might verge on disappointed territory at times.

Fortunately for his swiftly flagging ego, he's done this next bit enough times with an audience he's got it down pat.

Hooking his thumbs at the waistband of his briefs, he wiggles his hips until they catch on the column of his cock. The tip pops out soon, and he uses one hand to pull his underwear down until gravity's doing his job for him while he uses the other to reach for himself. Tightening his grip minutely, he hisses, rocking forward a few times before he lets himself go. Self-control is hardly his best quality, and he has to make this last.

Fingers dip into his own mouth, his index first and then the middle, all the while relaxing the lower half of his body as much as possible given he's standing upright still.

Already relaxed from the shower with just enough prior prep to make the first push in less of a shock after a busy weekend with no time for anything fancy where wanking has been concerned, he starts by rubbing on and around his hole, hand reaching backwards to leave a clear view of his other hand touching mildly at his cock. He pushes gently inside with his middle finger first. Pushes in slowly. The weirdness goes by quicker when he's already a bit turned on, and eyes watching him intently definitely add to it.

The real show is him rubbing beneath the head, the first few drops of pre-come starting to bubble at the slit, but there's the underlying tension of knowing there's more happening where Geralt can't quite see it. A cut-off version of the real thing later on.

Dipping in and out a few times, he's not quite ready to move on to two, but he has to let on the intention is certainly there, a promise. He sits for that, the edge of the bed immediately behind him. Legs splaying, knees parted, ready to give the first peek of what's to come, he teases two fingers, pushing in with only one each time. It's always a bit like this, the friction weird at the start and his thoughts wandering until he has to idly wonder if all the other times have been flukes before something switches on in his brain, the feeling going from boring yet weird to realisation of the pleasure coming his way. Oddly enough, he prefers the awkward, almost dry friction when he's getting head to go along with it, but like this, on his own, he has to build up to it if he wants it to last, for the feeling to go on for the long-haul.

He's about to move himself around, get to his knees to show off a little—well, _a lot_ —when Geralt goes, "Don't turn around." As if he knew he was about to. Although it's entirely possible he's more than a little familiar with Geralt's usual routine if he's decided to pay for a private chat, must know at least a little of what he's getting for his money.

It arrests Jaskier for a long moment, Geralt's request, his hand hanging uselessly in the air behind him where he was reaching for the wall to steady himself while turning. However, it's the first real one since they started, so even though it's going to prevent him from doing what he usually does well, won't be able to show up like he knows works for him, it's not his show, not entirely. And it's hardly the worst thing anyone's asked of him since he started doing his little streams. He can't for the life of him figure out why someone might refuse a clear view of his hole getting stretched, but it's an inconvenience at best as far as he's concerned.

Confused as he may be, Jaskier goes right ahead, deciding this calls for his best tricks. Hopefully the reaction won't be too lukewarm. Well, if his audience should get bored, he expects him to say something. From the corner of his eye, he notices the timer is still going strong, his hour getting filled nicely.

Brow furrowed in concentration, he finally gets to his knees, pausing in a hopefully likely-looking position, then shuffles tentatively backwards a tad more before finding what he expects will be a comfortable pose which looks good from the angle of the laptop's webcam.

Biting his lip, he reaches underneath the pillow by his left knee for the bottle of lube he hid there earlier. He slowly pops the cap and carefully squeezes out a decent dollop of the stuff. Lube is your friend until your knee slips in it while you've got a teen-incher inside your bum, after which it's more of a health hazard. Not that Jaskier's ever, well. Never mind all that. Point is, he's much more fastidious when it comes to how much lube goes where these days.

He touches at the inside of his thigh with gentle fingers. Goosebumps where the skin's thin over the little muscle he's got going for him always have him shivering. Coupled with the sensation of his own fingers prodding at the spot beneath his balls, it's got his cock rising to the occasion nicely from where it was lagging a little after the change of pace, back to fully hard within moments.

Letting out a little whine at the first touch of slick fingers to his hole, infinitely better than spit, he pushes out a breath and sinks in to the first knuckle, swiftly taking it in until the second as his muscles push out to accommodate the length.

Like this, he can feel his own pulse and every muscle twitching. It's the same feel as he'd have if he were fingering someone else, only it goes both ways, each movement coincides with sensation, nothing is lost. He can feel how wet he is around his fingers from the lube because he's the one who put it there. Hair at the base of his finger tickles. He keeps it neat at the groin, but he's not doing real porn here, hasn't reached the stage where he's willing to go bare everywhere, and, besides, the punters seem to like it. He gets enough about his hairy hole that he thinks a lot of them tune in just for that.

The first few tentative pumps of his hand turn into thrusts. Licking at his lips, he drags his gaze away from an invisible point at the far end of the room. Just as his eyes settle on Geralt's he doesn't get the least bit of warning, and he ends up watching in something like shock as Geralt's cheeks may or may not redden, ostensibly blushing the palest of pinks, though enough to show up on camera with the lighting he's got in his own room, which makes Jaskier oddly enough flush all down his chest as well. And he's pale as fuck, it's winter, he hasn't seen much in the way of sun in fucking London of all places, therefore it must stand out instantly, but Geralt doesn't comment on it, doesn't so much as blink, a statue with barely the softest of pinks unless Jaskier's eyes are deceiving him.

Overall, Jaskier kind of goes on with it, tries his best to finger himself and show off the goods without facing away, which is kind of frustrating in itself, can't get as into it as if he were wanking on his own, because putting on a show isn't the same, has never felt remotely similar despite almost identical mechanics for big chunks of it. It must show on his face, he's never been particularly good at faking anything, but he keeps his jaw as soft as possible, focusing on the sensation. One finger turns to two, overlapping inside him. He withdraws to dribble a bit more lube before pushing back in, this time much more easily, his hole sucking them back in. His other hand brushes his cock lightly, root to just below the tip in a steady rhythm meant to keep the momentum going than to actually make himself come.

At about this point is when his knees sort of melt into his bedding, and his hips start rocking minutely on their own, and the slide in and out brings on the right kind of friction where he needs to keep going, knows it's gonna be good if he does.

"Stop."

He barely hears it, isn't much interested in following directions, but months of training his brain to think past the pleasure has him opening eyes he wasn't aware a moment ago he's even shut to look at Geralt watching him much more intently than before, fingers stilling inside himself as his palm pauses at the root of his dick.

"Hmm?" he manages. "May I help you?" His toes fidget as he waits for an answer.

"You're not cute."

"Lies," he mutters immediately, but Geralt doesn't let him start on a rant, instead chiming in with, "Do you want to fuck yourself now?"

It should sound clinical, it may be that objectively, but from where Jaskier is standing the words have his eyelashes fluttering and his hole twitching around his fingers, and he moans out, "Yes, fuck," before the hand at his cock moves away to reach for his favourite toy, the sleek black one he dolled out too much for his second week of camming. Best investment ever.

Rolling his hips over his fingers, the squelch of lube on skin fills the room, might even get picked up by the external mic affixed to his laptop. Biting the corner of his lower lip almost bloody, he curls his fingers, prods around until he's got it. His spine curls farther with the sensation than anything he does when he's trying to intentionally show off, his body primed now, muscles flexing for more.

He takes his fingers out, gaze blurry around the edges. The first push in will always feel like too much, as if his fingers did nothing to loosen him up just a few seconds ago. He uses liberal amounts of lube before pressing the tip of the toy to his hole, tipping it forward and rubbing it around in circles. The top of it catches on the rim, hardly enough to sink in but promising more. The fingers on his other hand press at the inside of his thigh, his cock bobbing in front of him, aching to be touched. It's as if he has to relax himself all over again, but this time it comes easier, his muscles pushing out, following along the edge of the dildo until the first half of an inch sinks inside. Then the rest quickly follows, his palm gripping at the base. He takes in about half, the stretch _good_ , perfect when he shifts it inside to rub around the nice spot, the barest of stimulation.

He builds up a steady rhythm slowly, carefully. Not too much all at once. He treads the dual lines of too much and too good several times, having to stop and take it out until the very tip is all that's keeping him open. His lips sting from biting them, from raking his teeth across them. He shouldn't be wanking at all, but he can't help it, he's more than a little hot for it now, has in truth been so since they started.

Time passes oddly. He stretches his neck out and back, his knees shifting to allow him to balance better. The last thing he wants is to fall on his face, runs the risk of overbalancing once he's pumping his hands the way he likes it when he's going at it fully. Should probably be using one hand to grip at the wall, but he's not thinking exactly straight.

Beeping from his laptop momentarily startles him. The hour's over.

Straight away Gerakt says, "I'll pay in full for another hour. Until you finish." His inflection doesn't make it sound like a question, but his expression is questioning.

Jaskier's hole twitches around the toy. "Yes, yes, OK."

The prolonged artificial sound of coins ringing alerts him that credit is being added, while his screen flashes the amount. Geralt's indeed deposited another hour's worth into Jaskier's account. The urge to giggle hysterically is strong, but he stifles it readily, instead rolling his hips greedily, hands pumping away, thigh muscles near cramping with the strain of fucking himself the way he likes it, the way he needs it right now. Even if it's only minutes of this, can't possibly last that much longer, he knows he'll be sore later.

"I just need." But he doesn't explain with words what he needs, because he's already doing it, taking out the toy in order to wank himself properly, grip tight beneath the glans. His fingers are slick, and he's leaking profusely anyway, so it's only a matter of minutes, no, seconds, before he's coming like a punch to the belly, come landing all over the dildo where he's discarded it in front of him on the bed. He covers it in streaks upon streaks, oddly satisfying to watch, the strips of milky white on top of the glossy black.

Holding himself up isn't much of an option right after. He lets himself lean back into the pillow resting against the wall at his back, still holding his softening cock in his palm. He'll get too sensitive in a moment, but it feels good to hold himself right after, his tingling skin has him feeling oddly vulnerable all of a sudden. Cupping himself protectively, his gaze shifts to the screen where Geralt looks just as impassive as ever, though his pupils might be dilated. Or it could be a trick of Jaskier's hazy vision and the distance and technology messing with his head.

He doesn't know what he expects after that, but Geralt roughly muttering a pretty final, "Thank you," before swiftly logging off and leaving a black screen in his wake is not exactly it.

**Author's Note:**

> All righty then. :D
> 
> Kudos/comments give me all the feels. Be well until next time! <333
> 
> Tumblr: [rhubarbdreams](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)


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